EMANCIPATION
by OrphicBlade
Summary: Two years after the Battle of Endor, addled by spice, anguish, and rage, a talented Twi'Lek slave makes a wild and desperate attempt to escape her Rodian master and his Trandoshan crew in orbit above Tatooine. ((comments and critique sought!))


**EMANCIPATION**

The spice was coming on strong. Ciffe's head fizzed, popped, and threatened to float away. Suddenly her task was no longer perilous and terrifying – now it was absurd and hilarious. There in the freighter's engine room, hidden in the small gap between the hyperdrive block and the deck, the petite cerulean-skinned Twi'Lek bit her tongue to keep from laughing. She'd tried to inhale the courage needed to flirt with death. She might have taken too much.

The thought didn't bother her though. It just hovered. It had been awhile since the spice penetrated her tolerance and made her feel this way. If it was strong enough to send her into an energetic, giggly euphoria when it kicked in, it soon relaxed into a clean, contented buzz. That thought hovered too.

Now that her hands had stopped shaking with fear, she continued her work, careful as a Sluissi mechanic, prizing away the casing on the Hyperdrive's motivator with her improvised driver. The jewellery Veedeesh had gifted her was wonderfully suited to the purpose – two of the rings had been just malleable enough to bend into rudimentary but effective tools, standing in for a driver and a diode pick. The Rodian's depraved bribes would be his undoing.

The ropes bit harder into her back as her shoulders strained; the spice muted the pain but she could still feel her muscles protesting. The rope harness was tight enough to itch, chafe, bruise and burn, but loose enough to allow freedom of movement. She wore nothing beneath it - the strands barely covered her privates. The sense of modesty the thin, antiquated cordage gave was so negligible that she may as well be nude. Her every curve was flaunted. Bound yet bare. Humiliated. That was Veedeesh's intention. He was clearly practiced; the design was undeniably artful.

She was denied any reprieve from the ropes, even to wash. Instead she had to tug hard at each piece of the web, lifting them up one at a time to scrub painfully at the tender flesh beneath. And the stink of his oily pheromones was always on her. No amount of bathing could remove it. But she endured it. The spice made it easier.

By her count she had been two standard months aboard the freighter, still clueless to its name or make; a maze of lifeless durasteel corridors suspended above a large cargo-hold filled with crates and barrels of spice, fuel, food, and assorted necessities. The ship saw Veedeesh and his small crew of Trandoshans around the backwaters and Imperial holdouts of the Galaxy, peddling slaves to a discerning clientele. The Trandoshans had no master. The slaves belonged to them, but they lacked the finesse of negotiation for profit, which is where the shrewd Rodian Veedeesh came in, parasitic. Ciffe herself had been promised to a mogul on Tatooine, however the Rodian took such a liking to her that he deliberately delayed his arrival there for as long as possible so he could have his fun.

When she arrived, emerging from a portable cell into the freighter's cargo bay, Veedeesh had immediately separated her from the other slaves and pressed her with the type crude and transparent charm she was all too familiar with. He brought her to his cabin, introduced her to spice, and while she was doped up he stripped her, bound her, and had his way with her. From then on, when he wasn't availing himself of her duty, Veedeesh made sure Ciffe was well kept. She was showered with pretty gifts, given superior food and drink, limited freedom to wander the ship, and a small cabin of her own.

The shortest path between Veedeesh's cabin and hers was vacant and lifeless, but the Rodian demanded she take the longer route after every visit - the route that led her between the stockades. The slaves caged within regarded her with venom and hatred when she passed. They spat and jeered and threw insults, their behaviour permitted as good fun by the Trandoshans minding them. Whatever Veedeesh's intent was, to demonstrate his power or degrade her further, after the first few days Ciffe stopped caring. She endured it. The spice dulled the shame.  
People usually thought her dull and dimwitted, owing to a long face and oafish underbite, and Veedeesh was no exception. She was no fool, though, and Ciffe knew immediately why he lavished on her. It was no simple favouritism. Between the ropes and the walk of shame, the Rodian made it clear he played a psychological game. He wanted her dependence through the spice. He wanted to break her down until she found sanctuary in his bed. He wanted her to please him willingly. It was more exciting for him.

In the end, it was the taste of small luxuries and small freedoms that broke her. Having never known such comforts, they had awoken in her a hunger for more. And so she played the part, conscious of his game, hateful of Veedeesh and of herself, wishing she were as stupid as he thought. She pleased him. Willingly.

Her cabin became the sanctuary Veedeesh had hoped she would find in him, and to protect it she made sure he thought the opposite. The personal space allowed her to spend time with her only possession – her Mandoviol. When she wasn't obliging Veedeesh she lost herself in it, the difficult stringed instrument that had become her mother and father. Though it was brutally forced upon her for the last eight years, it had privately whispered much wisdom to her, unperceived by her masters. It taught her the ways of diligence and patience in the refinement of skill. Of beauty and grace in the art of song. Of peace and presence in sustained, fierce concentration. Of courage, in a reason to survive.

Her music was only love she'd ever known, and Veedeesh had unintentionally given her the room to indulge in it. For a brief, blissful honeymoon, the intoxication of the spice had elevated that indulgence into a window on the divine. Ciffe became an addict.

She made only one request of Veedeesh, one evening when he was post-coital and high. He'd agreed without a second thought. After their next planetfall, a holonet terminal was set up in her cabin. The Rodian was cerebral enough to lock out her ability to do anything other than access information from an index. It was unnecessary. She wasn't interested in calling for help. What help would come? What she wanted was to learn.  
Until now the wealth of her knowledge was limited to what scraps of culture she could glean from other slaves. Her childhood as industrial labour in The Warrens of Nar Shaddaa had taught her the skills to disarm, disassemble, and reassemble anything from a thermal detonator to an E-11 rifle with her eyes closed. The resulting fitness of her fingers sent her to Nal Hutta, where she was trained as a member of Gaatan The Hutt's personal band, forced to practice for sixteen hours a day, until her fingers bled, every mistake answered with a lash from the neuronic whip. She could now play in almost any genre on demand, could even play Lord Tel Jaro's complete operatic suites flawlessly in one sitting (_almost flawlessly_; she had struck a sour note in a performance of the very same suites, which led to the enraged Hutt selling her to the foulest slaver he could think of as punishment, Veedeesh himself). She could speak Basic, Ryl, Lekku, and Huttese fluently. She was twenty-two years old, now, and for all her talents, she knew next to nothing about the galaxy at large.

And so she began devouring the knowledge she had been starved of. She started with history - the Old Republic and its demise, the Empire's rise and fall, the New Republic and its ongoing struggle for coherence and authority. Then she dived into every musical realm she could, exhausting herself, spending sleepless, spice filled nights enraptured by what she found, madly integrating what she could into her own repertoire. She became very interested in the raucous and rough anthems of Glimmik, partly because she knew it was Gaatan's most reviled genre, and partly because the thickly applied distortions of the Xantha and Electroharp detonated waves of frisson through her body when she was high, which she felt strongest in her Lekku as immeasurable pleasure. Lacking the electronics required to replicate the sound on her Mandoviol tempted her to make the appropriate request of Veedeesh but she suspected it would lead him to expect more of the personal time she was enjoying.

Her education darkened when she learned of Ryloth. She remembered her homeworld only in dreams, having been sold into slavery at the age of five. She discovered her own people were responsible for the galactic subjugation of Twi'Leks. It had been permitted – even supported – not only by the empire, but by the Republic as well. And it still was. She had scoured the holonet for home, and family, and justice, only to find all had abandoned her. The cruelness of her masters had not been exceptional. Her life truly held no more significance than a natural resource. She was capital. She was fuel. Used goods. An object. Nobody cared, and nobody would.

She wept for days.

Music could not console her, and neither could the spice, which she began to inhale in greater and greater quantities. Veedeesh was eager to provide more, knowing it made her dependent and docile. The rising dosage addled and darkened her thoughts. Over the last week aboard the freighter it soured her heartbreak into anger, into hatred, and into rage, more powerful than anything she had ever felt before.

The Galaxy had failed her, infinitely and relentlessly. Delirious on the spice, she resolved to make her own rules, and her own laws, and abide only by them. Her hunger for freedom – absolute, unperverted freedom – began to burn even brighter in her mind. What little of it she'd guiltily enjoyed as the Rodian's pet was no longer satisfying. She could not return to being a whimpering peon for another tyrant. Out of the question. She must have freedom. With it, she would craft a life spectacular, until all the suffering that had preceded it was dead and forgotten. She would live as if she had never been a slave at all. This would be her revenge, and she would have it at any cost. She would lie for it, cheat, manipulate, and steal for it. And she would kill for it. When she was with the Rodian, all she could think about was his blood soaking the sheets, his face a twisted mask of pain and death.

Sabotage, however, was her path to freedom. One of the subjects she had been studying more intensely than the others was Hyperdrive specifications and engineering. Though she had always been aware she was cleverer than most, she surprised herself with how well and how swiftly she absorbed and understood the complex material. When the freighter finally exited hyperspace into orbit above Tatooine and Veedeesh informed her they had two days left together in orbit, Ciffe crafted her tools, inhaled a heroic amount of spice, and marched to the engine room.

High as she was, installing a mainframe bypass and manually programming the hyperdrive's motivator seemed much easier than the holos had depicted, or at least Ciffe thoughts so. Her hands were small, strong, and experienced, and the spice had her feeling supremely confident. Her fingers worked the diode hubs with ease until the tiny, simplistic display screen inside confirmed the co-ordinates of the nearest black hole in red numbers. In twenty minutes the freighter would jump to hyperspace and get caught in the singularity's gravity well until it either ran out of fuel, or a powerful vessel with a tractor beam pulled it out. The latter was unlikely. The other slaves may die, but Ciffe wasn't bothered. She'd provided them a chance at survival, however slim, and it more than she wanted to. Her concern was focused on herself alone. That's how she would survive.

She slipped out from under the Hyperdrive, leaving her tools there beneath it, and rose slowly to her feet, swallowing the laughter, a little dizzy. Something wasn't quite right. She shouldn't be feeling this way still. Had she taken more than she could handle? Had she overdosed? No matter. It was too late to worry now. Why worry at all? She felt fantastic. Instead of heading straight for the escape pods, she found herself wandering down the corridors towards Veedeesh's quarters. She hadn't planned on it. The still surging spice was giving her all kinds of impulses and ideas against her better judgment. There was no fear. No apprehension. Twenty minutes would be plenty of time to do what must be done.

_What must be done._

The armoured Trandoshan standing guard outside Veedeesh's cabin, Slissk, large even by Trandoshan standards, bared his sharpened teeth at Ciffe in a wide, wicked, and knowing grin. She tapped at Veedeesh's intercom. For the first time since she arrived, she met the towering lizard's eyes. She felt compelled to return the smile.

Veedeesh's hooting voice interrupted Slissk's surprise.

"_Ke waatuuba!_ Who is it?"

"It's me." Ciffe said ineffectually.

"Ahh _wana chet orbi_. Come in, _Kiistha_."

The door slid open and Ciffe stepped inside. Her heightened senses were immediately blasted with the pungent scent of Takateek berries, a nasty and acidic Rodian favourite that Veedeesh insisted on sharing with her occasionally. His Cabin was dark and filthy as ever. Garments were strewn about the wide square layout. The bed pushed into the far corner was unkempt, with stained sheets. The workbench opposite it strewn with the debris of a gangster –two grimy blasters beside depleted power packs, plates of half eaten food, tumblers of half drank firewater. Puddles of spice and various tools for taking it. And the bowl of berries. Bleak as it was, it all shimmered around the edges with opportunity. Something wonderful was about to happen here.

The door shut behind her, and she coughed weakly. Veedeesh appeared from the refresher a moment later, wearing only trousers, his purple gut bulging.

"I was just thinking about you, _Kiistha_. Were you thinking about me?" The Rodian said, his large bug eyes framed with a hungry expression, drinking in the sight of her. He sat on the edge of his bed, inviting Ciffe beside him with a pat of the blanket.

She approached without a word, and sat, somehow managing to feign a relaxed air. The Rodian immediately began running a sucker-tipped finger up her left lekku until it touched the circular brand that had been burned into its flesh when she was only six. Though it had warped and stretched as she grew, the scar was still legible. The Huttese symbol for thrall.

"_Kiistha_, I like it when I don't have to call for you. You are learning. Sad that I cannot keep you longer…"

His finger slid down her cheek and coiled around the collar of rope at her neck, tugging at it lightly, putting pressure on her larynx.

"Because I would continue to reward you. Ah - _Waatuu feeta_. Your new master made a too-generous offer… And where are your rings?"

Ciffe turned and placed her hands on Veedeesh's bare chest, halting the dangerous line of questioning with a gentle push, backwards onto the bed. She slid her fingers downwards as she did so, signalling her intent, speaking softly.

"Maybe I would like to reward you. For _your_ generosity."

She heard the words from far away. It seemed as though someone else entirely was speaking, with her own voice. Her heart pounded in her ears. The anticipation of her true desire ran flush with the flow of spice. Straddling his waist, she felt suddenly powerful, knowing the secret of what was coming.

"Kiistha, you are greedy. I can tell." Veedeesh said, greedy himself.

She stared at the Rodian beneath her. How many had come before her? How many had he tried to tame? How many had he discarded? Were they all Twi'Lek? Slave-girls he bound as pleasure things, addressing them in that pet-name Rodians reserved only for their daughters. _Kiistha._

_Disgusting._

Ciffe lay her bound body down against the Rodian's, and began to lick lightly his neck, as he liked. His oily skin was putrid and taste like blaster grease.

"_Kiistha_…" the Rodian cooed, turning into lecherous putty.

He moved his hands over her flesh and then pulled at two of the ropes criss-crossing her back. The cords that bound her breasts tightened painfully.

Ciffe's anger swelled with the pain, reaching it's zenith, filling her with savagery. She rolled to his side, pulled an arm back, and slammed her fist into his diaphragm, emptying his lungs. At the same time she ripped open his neck with her teeth, gnashing like a wild dog until she felt his carotid artery tear apart between her incisors, and her mouth filling with his warm, resinous blood. Winded, he couldn't even scream. All he managed to do was punch Ciffe hard in the face, sending her onto the floor, and then clutched desperately at his neck, horrified and confused. He fainted before he could even rise from the bed. Ciffe sat up and stared at the door, awaiting the enforcer outside. But Slissk did not appear. It had been a quiet violence.

She rose slowly to her feet and stood watching as Veedeesh silently bled to death in his sheets, half naked, eyes and mouth frozen wide in shock. Reality seemed to twist and stretch out time. Ciffe forgot herself in the sight, entranced. A newborn killer. It was just as she had imagined - even the expression on his stupid kriffing face.

The adrenaline had been eating at the haze of her high. The psychotropics in her veins had depleted. She deflated with them, and realized what she had done. The horrible taste of Veedeesh's blood suddenly overpowered her. She doubled over and vomited, dry heaving bile. When she wiped the blood and spittle from her mouth she found she'd dislocated two of her knuckles against Veedeesh's lowest rib. And her jaw felt uncomfortably strange where he'd hit her.

The moment began to pass like the eye of a storm, and the rain and the thunder and the lightning returned in the form of urgency, a great and heavy urgency, a building pressure between her temples. It formed into a thought, and the thought dropped anxiety into her chest like a twenty kilogram power-weight.

_Hyperspace!_

Ciffe scrambled into the refresher to clean the blood more thoroughly from her face, but knew it wouldn't solve the problem. The Trandoshan would smell it on her the moment she opened the door. She remembered the Takateeks and darted to the bowl on the workspace. She crushed two of the foul-smelling things in her hands and smeared the juice wherever the blood had fallen, than washed up again to make the effort more natural, as if she had simply been eating the fruit. She considered taking one of the blasters, but knew Slissk would kill her immediately if he saw her armed. She made for the cabin door.

Taking a deep breath, she tapped at the console on the wall, opening the door. She slipped out into the hallway as swiftly as she could so that the door would shut again before Slissk could peer in. She kept her eyes away from the Trandoshan and walked meekly down the corridor as she always did. The spice had annihilated her acumen - How stupid it was to smile at him! How insane the risk was in killing Veedeesh! Thankfully the drug was still dulling her limbic response and though she was panicked, Slissk smelt no fear on her. All the same, she felt his suspicious eyes on her back as she moved gingerly down the corridor, and the moment she turned the corner towards the cargo lift, she quickened her pace. She had no idea how much time had passed. The bypass could take hold of the hyperdrive at any moment. When she reached the lift and summoned it, her stomach began to twist and sink once more. Her Mandovial. She'd forgotten her Mandovial.

She found herself running, but this time not at the command of the spice. She ran away from the lift, down another lifeless and hostile corridor, away from safety and freedom, towards the only thing she valued more. The only thing she loved. She ran past the stockades, deaf to the mocking and jeering of the slaves, eyes on the deck, past the Trandoshans standing guard, relying on their indifference.

She burst into her cabin out of breath and fell to her knees at the foot of her bed, snatching the Mandoviol's dark and decaying case from under it, the precious instrument locked within, and slung it over her shoulder. She left back into the corridor, counting the seconds.

Slissk was waiting. From the opposite end of the corridor he approached, savage and bloodthirsty like the predator he was, licking the lips of his predator's maw, brandishing an activated electro-staff and the same wicked grin. He knew her crime. They locked eyes, and for a moment, neither moved.

Ciffe bolted back towards the cargo lift, and the demon howled after her.

"YESSSSS! LEAD ME A HUNT, PUNY ONE! HOW WELL CAN YOU HIDE?"

The pounding of Slissk's mighty steps echoed down the corridor behind her as she ran, daring not to look behind. When she neared the stockades again, Slissk's brothers realized the situation and prepared to seize her. A roar from Slissk stayed their hands. The Scorekeeper was watching, and the Jagganth points would be his - the kill would be his.

The spice couldn't keep the fear down any longer, and Ciffe arrived at the elevator with tears of panic and terror streaming down her face. She threw herself against the doors, slamming her fist wildly against the controls, sobbing desperately. Thankfully Slissk's armour slowed him, and the lift was primed from her first visit. The doors opened in time for her to slip in and immediately start working the panel inside, forcing her to face Slissk bearing down on her, meters away. When the doors shut his hulking body crashed against them from the outside like a cannon firing. Ciffe fell to the floor screaming.

When the cargo elevator began its slow descent a moment later, another bang sounded on the roof. The carriage bounced under the Trandoshan's weight. Anticipating his next move, Ciffe scrambled to her feet and back to the control panel, engaging the maintenance hatch's emergency lockout. She heard the magnetic seal above click into place. A moment later Slissk roared in frustration and began beating on the hatch. Then, silence, as he instead jammed one end of his staff into the lift's exterior power coils. He began overcharging the weapon.

Ciffe heard an electronic explosion and the lift squealed to a halt, the primary lights being replaced with emergency reds. The electromagnets sealing the maintenance hatch disengaged. But the lift door's safety release was also triggered, and Ciffe was relieved to see the cargo bay through a small gap in the shaft. She scrambled through it and quickly dropped down into the cargo-bay before the Trandoshan managed to haul open the hatch and drop into the lift. Rushing to an escape pod, she had the time to activate its primer and then hide in the scramble of storage crates and cylinders before Slissk emerged into the bay, tucking herself into the darkest gap she could find.

"I can ssssmell you, puny one!" Slissk hissed, prowling towards the stacks.

Ciffe watched as the bell-shaped pod slowly unspooled from its dock, filling with atmosphere and pressure, preparing for launch, hydraulics whining as it rotated.

"You are pungent." Slissk continued, "With Rodian ssssstink. With Rodian _ssssseeeed!_"

The Trandoshan laughed, filling the cargo bay with the terrible sound. He began sweeping one end of the stun-staff on the deck as he moved, overcharging it once more, showering the rows of cargo with sparks. Some of them found Ciffe and bit at her bare skin. She clasped her hands around her mouth to silence her own sobbing, staring at the escape pod. Her chest heaved. Her head swam. She wanted to vomit again.  
There came a tumbling and crashing as Slissk began to heave and kick at the barrels and crates. One fell open, and a brown, sweet smelling powder like sand spilled out close to Ciffe. Spice. In that moment the escape pod finally completed its unspooling. The access hatch hissed open. Ciffe quickly grabbed a fistful of the spice, swallowed her fear, and shot out from her hiding space.

Slissk was upon her immediately, advancing with his staff above his head, aiming to end her with one devastating blow. Ciffe stood her ground, found her mark, and, terrified, threw the spice. The sticky powder struck the towering Trandoshans eyes. He cried out. The trajectory of his staff changed, collided with Ciffe's left flank, and discharged. She screamed as half her body flared with a blinding voltaic pain, an army of wasps stinging in waves beneath her skin. Then it fell completely numb.

Slissk reeled back, dropped his staff, and rubbed furiously at his burning eyes, the spice congealing with his tears and becoming glued to his sclera and retinas. Ciffe collapsed under the weight of her paralyzed leg. Her Mandoviol case slipped from her shoulder, so she took the strap into her teeth, and started crawling towards the escape pod with her functioning arm, pushing forward with her functioning leg. With considerable effort she began hauling herself inside while Slissk found his staff again and started swinging wildly.

Ciffe tumbled into the escape pod, but her relief was short lived. She shrieked again as Slissk's arm shot through the hatch and seized her numb ankle like a vice, the claws of his hand finding deep purchase, drawing blood, and began to pull her out of the escape pod. She reached up and punched the bright green engage button on the escape pods interior. The magnetic hatch sealed violently on Slissk's shoulder with a sickening crunch of meat and bone.

The Trandoshan roared in agony, beating on the escape pod, still attached to his crushed arm, and a rising, oscillating hum vibrated through the pod as the freighter's hyperdrive began to engage. As if in response, the escape pod's thrusters exploded into action and it dropped down its tube, ripping Slissk's arm from his body. The freighter's pilot had engaged the tube's override at the last minute and the pod burst through the bulkhead sealing the exit. The impact threw Ciffe's body like a rag-doll. The last thing she saw was her Mandoviol case floating before her, silhouetted against Tatooine and the stars as they spiraled into a blur of black, white, and yellow, as the damaged escape pod corkscrewed out of control. Her skull and Lekku whipped against the pod's unpadded durasteel walls, knocking her out cold.

When she finally awoke the first thing she registered was the silence. Then the heat. And then, rushing in like a hangover's ferocious father - the pain. Her whole body throbbed and protested at the smallest movement, her head especially, though a concussion was the least of her problems.  
She let out a groan and opened her eyes to see a clear blue sky through the escape-pod hatch, which had automatically blown off when it landed. Slissk's severed arm was still attached to her ankle, his claws still hooked deep into her flesh. The bleeding had stopped, at least. Ciffe tested her arms and found them sore, and bruised, but still workable. The knuckles on her left hand were still dislocated. The paralysis had worn off.

Before she set to the task of removing the Trandoshan's limb she reached for the survival kit mounted beside the interior control panel, and slipped it out from its cradle of netting. She tore it open and immediately retrieved the water ration disc canteen, breaking its hermetic seal and drinking desperately from within. It didn't quite quench her thirst. Her body craved something else. Spice. Withdrawal would set in soon.

She took inventory. Also inside the kit was a knife, a set of bacta patches, a holocompass, a cheap rangefinder, a hand-cranked flashlight, two flares, and what appeared to be ration-packs - though the hard blackened tack inside looked about as appetizing as duracrete. After delicately removing each one of Slissk's claw from her ankle and applying a bacta patch to all four of the deep gouges, she stored the survival kit inside her Mandoviol case and slung it back over her shoulder, then slowly worked up the strength to pull herself out of the pod, out and onto the dune it had impacted. The sand burned the soles of her bare feet. Sand - rolling, mountainous dunes of sand as far as the eye could see, in every direction.

Death was almost certain. But she smiled anyway. Battered, broken, and still bound by Veedeesh's ropes, Ciffe staggered in the direction of Tatooine's afternoon suns, one foot after the other.

She was free.


End file.
